Halfway
It’s a three-fer today!
Hah. I made it halfway through NaBloPoMo. I really didn’t think that I would make it this far into things. Let’s hope that the last half comes as easily as the first half did.
Fifteen more posts coming from the tangled mind of Beosig for you to suffer through. Enjoy it if you can!
loge
Random word list:
besprinkled
finalizations
byworks
Haynes
loge
Word chosen: loge
Definition: the front section of the lowest balcony, separated from the back section by an aisle or railing or both.
Free association word list:
balcony
seat
chair
couch
potato
root
tuber
turnip
roommate’s grandfather
grocery store
shopping
mall
outlet stores
Christmas madness
Black Friday
Thanksgiving
friends
family
long distance
missing them
mostly
Word chosen: Thanksgiving
Writing:
Dammit. He’s coming for me. I know he is. Where do I hide? I saw what he did to Frankie with that axe two weeks ago. The Kid doesn’t know how to swing that thing. At least George was lucky. The Old Man did him in with a single swipe. The Kid had to chop at poor Frankie five times before Frankie stopped thrashing. I don’t want to go that way. It’s horrible.
Shit. There’s The Kid. I don’t know if he’s seen me or not. I don’t think so. Maybe he has. It’s so hard to tell. The Kid has that lazy eye, and he’s a bit slow up top. He could be trying to fake me out, but I’m sure that he hasn’t seen me. Maybe if I stay here in the shadow of the outhouse he won’t see me. He hates the outhouse. I’ve heard that he’s said that he would rather shit his pants than go into the outhouse. I know this is true because of the ruckus that The Old Lady makes when she has to clean The Kid’s pants out. They should have drowned that bastard when he was born.
Son-of-a-bitch. He’s seen me. I’m in for it. Maybe I can outrun him. The Old Man tied Frankie down when The Kid came for him. I’m free to move. Maybe that club foot will slow down The Kid enough for me to make an escape.
Mother-fucker. He’s coming my way now. I have to make my move. Here goes…. I’m off! Ok. We’ll run around behind the outhouse to get out of sight. Now I’m going run straight into the woods. The Kid is afraid of the woods. Something about wolves. I’d rather be eaten by a wolf than chopped at by that imbecile. Ok. I’m in the woods, now to get up enough speed to try to flap over the ravine. Here comes the ravine. I’m almost there. Just a little faster. That’s it! I’m in the air. Just a little further and I’ll make the other side.
Fuck me. I hit the other side! I didn’t make it. Now I can’t get out of the ravine. There’s no place down here to hide. I guess I’m done for. Maybe if I throw my neck at the axe blade I can help The Kid take me down in one fell swoop. Maybe. I guess I’m going to have to try that. I was always raised with the knowledge that I would end up on the dinner table. I’ve accepted that fact, but I’ll be damned if I allow The Kid to butcher me first.
Blood Hell. He’s coming. I can hear his clumsy footsteps stomping through the woods. He’s heading right for me. The end is near. One last glimpse at the sky that I’ll never fly through even though I have these feathers and wings. If only… He’s closing in. Wait! There he is. He’s not slowing down! The sorry bastard is going to bowl into the ravine! He did it! He plowed into the ditch head first.
Asshole! The Asshole is dead! At least, I think he’s dead. He managed to fling himself into the ditch, and landed square on the blade of the axe. What a moron! I think he managed to kill himself. He’s not moving. I’m going to get closer. I can hear some gurgling coming from that wound in his chest. That can’t be a good sign. Well, I can’t get out of this ditch without help, so I’m going to sit here and wait. Interesting, that gurgling is getting more shallow. I wonder if frothy blood is supposed to come out of humans’ mouths. I don’t think so. Oh shit! He shuddered. That scared the piss out of me. Oh. He stopped gurgling. Maybe he’s gone now? Huh. Well, I’m just going to hop up on him and proclaim myself to be The Slayer of Humans. I’ve earned that right. All turkeys will worship me from now on! This victory is for you, Frankie!
… and this is how Farmer Tucker found his retarded son dead in a ditch with an axe wound in his chest. The turkey that was sitting on him was warbling to the skies as if he owned the place. Somehow, Tucker was not saddened by this loss, but he was perturbed that he had to chase the turkey away from his son’s corpse in order to pull him out of the ditch. It was as if the turkey had taken credit for the horrible accident that had relieved the world of Little Billy Tucker.
Sorry for the cussing in this one. I’ve always though of turkeys as being fowl mouthed. Get it?
Writing Note
Just a note to the three people out there reading this…
The fiction that you’re reading here is not my best work. Quality writing goes through four basic stages:
- Inspiration
- Preparation
- Percolation
- Execution (this includes editing and re-writes)
What you’re reading here is a little bit inspired, and halfway executed. It’s just what pops in my head, and I throw into the keyboard. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I am an aspiring writer that hopes to be published in the near future. Please don’t let what you read here color your image of the quality of my writing. This is not my best work, and in no way do I ever hope to attempt to publish this as is. As a matter of fact, I would be insulting any agent, editor, or publisher by submitting this cruft as a submission. All I hope is to exercise my writing abilities a bit, and maybe get some truly inspired ideas for a short story or novel out of this.
prerehearsal
Random word list:
square-butted
Odericus
suburbican
prerehearsal
Half-russian
Word chosen: prerehearsal
Definition: pior to a session of exercise, drill, or practice, usually private, in preparation for a public performance, ceremony, etc.
Free association word list:
time before
stage
acting
speech
debate
preparation
study
Devil’s Advocate
winning
excellent
great preparation for life
note cards
cheat sheet
calculus
track coach
Africa
Europe
Asia
Australia
Antarctica
North America
South America
Brazil
topless beaches
boobies
Chewie
Shinto
Word chosen: track coach
Writing:
“Run, Boy! Run!” screamed Coach Jacobs through the megaphone. Even though the coach always used the megaphone and didn’t need to raise his voice, he still screamed into the device. This strange exhibition of primal male behavior caught the attention of Miss Larson as she sashayed between the track field and the bleachers, but not in the way that Coach Jacobs would have liked.
Coach Jacobs did notice that Miss Larson was looking his way, and he immediately stood taller, sucked in his middle-aged gut, and puffed out his saggy chest in an effort to make himself look appealing. Miss Larson smiled to herself at the charade, and was thankful that she was out of range of polite conversation.
Despite his bravado towards the boys on his track and field team, he was a coward when it came to women, and Miss Larson knew this. She made sure to cultivate her air of superiority while around Jacobs to ensure that his cowardice would always be at its peak when she was around. She wanted nothing to do with the man. Her womanly curves were reserved for one man, and one man only: Jake Talbert.
Miss Larson felt her steady gait stutter a moment from her weakened knees. She could feel her juices start to……
Thank God my five minutes are up! I have absolutely no idea why I even wandered into the romance field with this writing. It’s just where my mind took me tonight. Maybe it’s from being delirious due to lack of sleep. I could make up a hundred more reasons, but none of them would be adequate to explain why my mind went that way… At least now I know that I’ll never be cut out for romance novels. I wonder if I’ll ever hit a love scene in any of my books, and how much I’m going to have to gloss over… I guess I’ll cross that bridge when the time comes….
